Undocumented
by Lacadiva
Summary: Doggett risks his life to carry precious cargo - Scully - across the country to Mulder and safety.


UNDOCUMENTED  
by   
Lacadiva  
(Lacadiva@aol.om)  
  
Rating: PG13  
Category: Doggett/Scully Friendship/Colonization  
Disclaimer: All things X-Files belongs to Fox and Ten Thirteen. Lyrics belong to The Black Crowes and Sony Music Entertainment, Inc. No copyright infringement intended.   
Spoilers: Bunches, you bet.   
Archive: I'd be honored. Just write me and let me know.  
Feedback: Love it. Send it. Pleeze.  
Summary: Doggett risks his life to carry precious cargo -- Scully -- across country to Mulder and safety as the alien takeover begins.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
"For in the day of trouble he will keep me safe in his dwelling;  
he will hide me in the shelter of his tabernacle and set me   
high upon a rock."  
Psalm 27:5  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Lady Man's Diner  
Bloomington, IN  
6:08 am  
  
She was sleeping, finally, after another long night of bad dreams filled with demons chasing her. So he took the opportunity to go exploring and score some breakfast. He knew she'd be waking up soon; she never slept for very long, and neither did he these days. And even though she'd probably claim she wasn't hungry, he wanted to have a little something there waiting for her.   
  
The diner was a decaying dinosaur, a last remnant of better days now gone forever. Lights were blown out and remained unchanged. The floors were unwashed and windows cracked and feebly taped up like Band-aids over gaping wounds. No one cared anymore. The booth where Doggett sat was sticky and clammy, but from here he could best see the door. He didn't care much for surprises. He'd had more than he could take in the last couple of weeks. From his first day on the X-Files until his last, he'd laughed at that whole space alien thing. Even as the evidence continued to mount, he'd still fought against the notion of an alien takeover. Until the first ship arrived, blotting out the sun, changing their fates forever.  
  
Two days before it happened, he received a frantic call from Mulder, who was halfway across the country. Mulder told him that he could do one of two things: believe him and do as he said, or bend over and kiss his own butt goodbye. Doggett chose the former.   
  
Mulder asked him to hide Scully for a few days. But that wasn't all. He needed Doggett to get Scully out of D.C. - smuggle her out and get her to a rendezvous station where Skinner would meet them to take them the rest of the way to Mulder.   
  
There were labs, he was told, but exact locations remained undisclosed. Weapons - both hardware and biological - were being developed to fight back. The Garza Vaccine was almost ready to test, but they needed Scully to bring the project to fruition. It was her discovery, her idea, and only she knew how to take it to the next level.   
  
Scully, however, was in no great shape to do anything these days. The depression that struck her had left her listless, lost and for a while, uncommunicative. Nothing like the Scully Doggett first met.  
  
She had been ill with inconsolable grief, and now she was still trying to pull herself back together after the birth - and theft - of her baby.  
  
Her very exceptional baby.  
  
They had left her alone at first, leaving her to believe that they were safe, that there was no threat to her or her baby. Then, shortly before William turned six months old, they came, and they took him.  
  
Doggett shook his head, trying to stop the barrage of memories and imagery. You didn't experience loss like this and easily recover. He knew this from his own life, his own loss. It would haunt him forever, as it no doubt would Scully. He tried not to remember the first time she let him hold her baby, when it was only a few days old, how even then he could tell there was something different about the infant. She had placed the baby gingerly into his arms and instantly he was flooded by memories of his own newly born son.  
  
He shivered, despite his leather jacket and the rising early morning heat and humidity. There was no air conditioning in the diner. Many luxuries had been banned. As the aliens began taking over, one of the first things to go was unnecessary utilities. Only the bare essentials were allowed. Massive blackouts resulted whenever energy use rose above levels set by the Colonizers. There was no radio, and no television except for round-the-clock alerts and warnings. Everyone watched in those first days. Now there was no point. All of it was propaganda, all dire warnings of death for disobedience. After three days of it, Doggett shot out his own television screen.  
  
And then he hit the road with Scully. She wasn't strong enough at the time, but they couldn't afford to wait any longer. Mulder was waiting, along with others who desperately needed Scully. Mulder needed Scully.  
  
Why such a lousy taste in his mouth when he thought about this?  
  
He chalked it up to male territorialism and smiled. Maybe it was because he was spending so much time with her, just the two of them. For a while he was beginning to see himself as some kind of knight. A somewhat disheveled, tired knight in tarnished, dented armor, and Scully was the Princess, his charge. He meant no derision by that image of Scully. This was no pampered, privileged, naive child-woman image he had of Scully. Somehow, even racing across desert stretches or pacing the floor of an autopsy room with an open cadaver before them, Scully had a stately, stainless veneer that reminded him of royalty, or the closest thing to it. He scratched his arm inside his jacket, digging in deeply enough to raise thick red welts. Not because he was itching, but because it brought him back, reconnected him with reality. Scully was Scully. His partner, his friend, and now his responsibility.   
  
He watched as the Waitress, a petite brunette in a pink uniform and white sneakers made a fresh pot of coffee. The smell hit him and he breathed it in deeply, wishing it could take the edge off of his exhaustion. This kind of tired, he thought, could only make you careless, get you hurt. Or killed.   
  
"Here's your coffees," the waitress said, placing two large covered foam cups before him, along with a large paper bag. "Cream and sugar's in the bag. Egg and cheese on wheat. Bacon, egg and cheese on white. And one whole peanut butter pie. Can I get you anything else?"  
  
"No," said Doggett, reaching into his pocket. "What's the damage?"  
  
"Twenty-six oh nine."  
  
"Twenty-six...?"  
  
"I know it sucks, sir. Prices are way up 'cause supplies are down. I can't even afford to eat here no more."  
  
"Yeah," was all Doggett could say when he saw the sad look in the girl's brown eyes. He pulled out two crumpled twenties and waited for his change. He left her an extra two bucks on the table and was about to stand, but heard bells above the door announce a new entry.  
  
Doggett looked up to find a huge, chiseled face on a massive body walking in. He was wearing a deputy's uniform that was about to pop off his thick chest. They had seen this same man before in their travels, he and Scully. She had referred to him as the Bounty Hunter. But that was not his function here. He was just one of many clones with this same face and shape scattered across the country and no doubt the rest of the world to police the human race for the Colonizers. Random checks for papers were standard procedure, no matter where you lived now. Doggett's heart started beating hard against his chest. He could feel the blood draining from his face, his fingertips beginning to tingle.   
  
He'd seen the propaganda reports on television wherever they ended up. People being shot and thrown into common graves, or burned alive for being undocumented. How long would their luck hold out? He had papers, but they were forged. Every time he had to present them somewhere, he felt that sense of panic, the adrenaline rush signaling his body to flee. Because if he and Scully were found to be undocumented, they would be put to death instantly.   
  
"Morning," said the big alien Deputy. "Hungry?"  
  
Doggett looked down at the paper sack and two coffees. "Yeah."  
  
"May I see your papers?"  
  
"Sure," he said with a strained smile. He raised his hands first, to show that he was surrendered to cooperating, then reached slowly inside his jacket for the folded papers the Lone Gunmen had meticulously manufactured for him. He could feel sweat soaking through his khaki green tee shirt as he handed the falsified papers over to the Deputy, praying he had not caught a glimpse of the weapon Doggett wore clipped to his belt.  
  
The Deputy made a long show of looking over every inch of the pages, keeping Doggett sitting there, wondering, worrying. Doggett knew he could take the big guy if push came to shove. He could knock him to the floor and blow his brains out before the guy even knew what hit him. But then, there may be others outside waiting for him. And if they traced him back to the hotel, they'd find Scully....  
  
"Everything looks in order, Mr. Jones," he said to Doggett. "You can go now."  
  
Doggett was about to rise, until a big, beefy hand came down on his shoulder.  
  
"Who's the other coffee for?" the Deputy demanded.  
  
"My wife," said Doggett.   
  
"Where is she?"  
  
"Shopping."  
  
"At six in the morning?"  
  
Doggett felt his heart skip. That was stupid. Some knight he'd turned out to be.  
  
The Waitress stepped up quickly behind the Deputy, her own papers in hand, surrendering them to the alien. "There's a farmer's market down the way, opens at six every Friday, rain or shine," she said. "Not much to buy but corn, but it's good corn."  
  
"She likes corn," Doggett added, sending the waitress a silent thank you.  
  
The Deputy said no more, but only took a small step back, not allowing Doggett much room to leave. He squeezed by as best he could, praying that the big alien could not smell his fear, and headed slowly for the door. Don't rush it, he kept telling himself. Take it easy. Nice and easy.  
  
"Mr. Jones!"  
  
Doggett stopped in his tracks, could feel hot coffee spill from one of the lids and burn the back of his hand.  
  
"Don't forget your change," the Deputy said, pointing to the dollar bills still on the table.  
  
"That's a tip," he said. "For the waitress. Good service."  
  
"You pay her extra money to do what she's supposed to do already. I'll never understand you humans."  
  
* * *  
  
Doggett fumbled in his jacket pocket for the key to the motel room, wrestling with the bags and cups and finally getting the door opened. He expected to find Scully still lying in bed in the dark, drab room, curled up in a fetal position. But the bed was empty.   
  
He felt a catch in his stomach.  
  
He looked to the bathroom door. It was closed and he could see the light on under the door. That had to be it. He sat the bag and coffees down on the round, unbalanced table in the corner and moved to the bathroom door.  
  
He knocked gently three times. "Scully?" No answer. He knocked again. "Agent Scully?" They stilled called each other Agent sometimes, even though the titles meant nothing anymore. "You fall in?"  
  
No answer.  
  
He didn't want to walk in on her. She might have been taking a warm bath. Perhaps she'd fallen asleep in the tub.   
  
Or she could be gone.  
  
Doggett reached for the door knob and turned it. It wasn't locked.  
  
"Scully?"  
  
The bathroom was empty. A second towel lay wet on the floor, near his. So she'd showered, but where had she gone?  
  
He heard someone outside the motel room door. He pulled his gun, removed the safety and aimed.  
  
Scully walked in. She started with a gasp and went for her own gun, but stopped when she realized it was Doggett.  
  
"Where were you?" she asked, perturbed.  
  
"I could ask you the same," Doggett retorted, returning his gun to his holster.   
  
"I went looking for you."  
  
"I would've left you a note," he said, "but you take your chances with these cheap rooms. No stationery, no pens to steal."  
  
"So where were you?"  
  
"Securing breakfast."  
  
"You should have saved yourself the trouble. I'm not hungry."  
  
"I am, and you might be later," he said, opening the bag, hoping the smell would activate her appetite. "There's coffee."  
  
"Coffee I can do."   
  
"And peanut butter pie."  
  
"Peanut butter pie?" With this she actually smiled a bit. Almost coquettish.   
  
"One piece or two?" she asked.  
  
"One pie, two forks."  
  
This earned him a bigger smile from Scully.  
  
"We're gonna have to eat on the road," he told her. "One of those alien bounty hunter guys showed up at the diner and demanded my papers. I don't think he followed me, but I figure we shouldn't take any chances."  
  
Scully immediately grabbed her overnight bag and headed for the door.   
  
"I'll drive," she said.  
  
"Naw, you ride shotgun."  
  
"I can drive, Doggett. I'm not sick anymore."  
  
"Yeah, I know. But you shoot better than me."  
  
* * *  
  
Highway in Illinois  
10:13 am  
  
They'd been on the road for a few hours, putting as much distance as they could between them and Bloomington.   
  
Doggett let out a short breath of relief when he noticed Scully finally reaching inside the bag between them and pulling out the sandwiches. Even though he knew they would be cold, the thought of food made his mouth begin to water. But he was determined to wait for Scully.  
  
"Which one's mine?" she asked, a sandwich in each hand.  
  
"White with bacon's mine."  
  
"I like bacon."  
  
"I thought it made you sick."  
  
"Yes, when I was pregnant. The smell made me nauseous."  
  
"Sorry," he said.   
  
"Don't be. I can't expect you to be acquainted with all of the intimate details of my life, Agent Doggett."  
  
*I bet Mulder would have known that*, he thought, but bit back the urge to voice it.  
  
"Take my sandwich," he offered instead.   
  
"No, no," Scully scoffed with a put-on sigh to tease him. She pulled the wrapping from his sandwich, making it into a neat little pouch so that he could eat and drive and the same time. Before handing it to him, however, she pinched a piece of wilted bacon from it and popped it into her mouth.  
  
He took a big bite, regretting that he had long ago finished off the coffee. His consolation however, was that Scully was eating. He spied a quick look as she took a bite and it didn't seem to make her ill as she chewed and swallowed it. Progress. There had been days when she would barely drink water. She refused all else.   
  
He remembered how remarkably and quickly his wife had regained her shape after Luke's birth. Scully, however, after delivering her baby and later being separated from him, had practically disappeared, becoming almost wraith-like in appearance. The paleness of her skin, the hollowness of her eyes, the weakness in her voice, had scared him those first few days. Scully moved as if through a dream those days after the child was taken.   
  
She was finally starting to sound and look a bit like her old self again, like the fresh, determined, more-than-capable Scully who tried to move heaven and earth to find her first partner. And would do the same for him. Wouldn't she?  
  
There was that odd twinge of jealousy again.  
  
Scully finished most of the sandwich, dropping a piece of the crust back into the bag before pronouncing herself full.  
  
"Saving room for the pie?" Doggett asked with his mouth full.  
  
"There's always room for pie," she said. "Why don't you let me drive a while?"  
  
"Nah, I'm okay. You just navigate."  
  
"Navigate what? We're going to be on this road for the rest of the day. I need to do something with my mind before it atrophies."  
  
"Okay," Doggett said. "I spy with my little eye..."  
  
"Anything but that."  
  
Doggett laughed a bit. "I used to play that with Luke on road trips."  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"  
  
"It's okay. It's good for me to talk about him once in a while. You taught me that, Agent Scully. Feels good to remember. Besides, makes me grateful in some weird small way that he ain't around for this. For what the world's becoming. How do you protect your child through this, ya know?"  
  
Silence between them. Doggett realized for the first time how much the two of them truly had in common, and wished he had kept his mouth shut.  
  
"You know," Scully said, breaking the tension, "Since I'm feeling better, there's no need to hover over me. I won't fall apart. I've withstood a lot, John, and I can take a lot more."  
  
"Nobody's doubting your ability to take care of yourself, Scully. I just like driving. It keeps my head clear."  
  
"You just like being in control."  
  
"So? What's your point? Look, if it means that much to you, Dana, next time we make a stop, you can drive. Deal?"  
  
"You just called me Dana."  
  
"You called me John."  
  
"When?"  
  
"A few moments ago."  
  
"Did not."  
  
"I distinctly heard it."  
  
"You're right, I did," Scully confessed.  
  
Such a pleasure, a departure, Doggett thought, being able to lighten the mood a bit.   
  
"Does this mean things are reaching a whole new level for you 'n me?" he asked.  
  
"It just means I'm scared."  
  
Doggett's smile faded to thin-lipped seriousness again, bringing with it the realization of what they were living through, running from.   
  
"Yeah," he confessed. "Me too."   
  
* * *  
  
They stopped at a gas station, marveling at the prices which had risen to nearly eight dollars a gallon, and the hand-painted note that read "sorry - pumps dry." They decided there was enough gas to attempt another fifty miles or so on the road. Perhaps they'd have better luck farther along the way.  
  
Scully freshened up in the tiny bathroom while Doggett fought with a vending machine. After taking his dollar, the cinnamon flavored chewing gum he selected remained on it's shelf, refusing to fall to the window below. He looked around, then took hold of the machine and gave it a good shake. Not only did he dislodge the gum, but he also scored pack of Oreos, beef jerky, and a bag of sunflower seeds.  
  
He met Scully at the car, and opened the driver's side door for her. Once she was in, he climbed into the passenger's seat, and decided against making a comment as Scully adjusted the seat to fit her smaller frame.  
  
Once on the road, Doggett rolled down his window, stuck an elbow out and folded a stick of gum into his mouth. He balled up the paper and flicked it to the back.  
  
Scully snorted, holding back a laugh.  
  
"What?" he demanded.  
  
"Nothing. Just wondering right now what color your neck is, Agent Doggett."  
  
"Are you calling me a redneck, Agent Scully?"  
  
"No. I'm sure that somewhere, slightly south of the Mason-Dixon Line, it's standard FBI procedure to flick chewing gum wrappers into the back seat, even if it isn't a pick up truck."  
  
"I'll have you know," he said, his southern accent tinged with New York deliberately more pronounced now, "that I worked hard and long learning how to flick that wrapper just right. You have to consider yaw, trajectory - "  
  
"Maybe you can teach me someday."  
  
"When the student's ready, the master will appear. So I've heard."  
  
"John?"  
  
"Uh huh?"   
  
"Do you think William is still alive?"  
  
"Whoa," Doggett said before he could stop himself, "talk about yaw."  
  
"I realize that came out of left field. It's just that he's on my mind all of the time."  
  
"Truth, Scully? I dunno. I got no beat on this stuff. I got no reference for this. That's you and Mulder's territory. If you're in the dark, I'm in the dark with you. I wish I had answers for you."  
  
"So do I."  
  
* * *  
  
MOTEL SIX  
8:46 PM  
  
  
Doggett sat on the bed, half listening to the "news" report on television, half listening to the sound of Scully in the shower. He'd developed a good ear, noticing variations in the way the water hit the tile and plastic curtain, to determine if Scully were more or less active as she showered. His fear early on was that she would pass out from hunger or weakness or fever. Now that she was improving in health, it was still his habit to listen out for her.   
  
The television news reporter, no doubt an alien hiding behind a human face, was droning on and on about undocumented individuals caught at various random check points, which were increasing. This gave Doggett a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. They'd been very lucky up to this point, but he knew that their luck would eventually run out.   
  
Money was getting low. Gas prices and food was consuming them faster than they could consume the products. Every room was beginning to look the same - dark, drab, unclean. He didn't trust the cleanliness of the sheets, and doubted that anyone cared enough anymore to disinfect the bathrooms. Why would anyone care? Life is different in wartime.   
  
He lay back on the bed, wishing he could just go to sleep and never wake up. He wanted to just find some dream memory to capture and play through his head in a continual loop, rehashing the very best moments of his life. With Luke, with his wife, as a New York cop, his first days with the FBI....  
  
But he couldn't. He had to live, if not for himself, for Scully. For the baby she'd lost. Getting Scully across country, ducking aliens, using forged papers, merely living, were all acts of revolution he was happy to commit. And if Doggett had to die, let it be for a reason, a cause.  
  
Scully had become his cause.  
  
He heard the water shut off, and sat up. He stood when the door opened, and Scully stepped out of the bathroom, steam floating behind her. Her hair was wet, and she was dressed in baggy sweats.  
  
"Water's still hot," she told him.  
  
"Great."   
  
He stood up immediately, heading for the television to turn it off.  
  
"No, leave it on. I want to hear."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
He stood and watched with her for a moment, worried about her reaction.   
The reports were depressing and skewed toward the occupying forces, as always. More reports of mass protests, leading to mass arrests, leading to mass executions. Resistant actions shut down, thwarted. Secret underground headquarters raided. Neither of them had to say what was on their minds.  
  
Mulder.  
  
What if he was among the captured, the tortured, the executed? What if this dangerous trek across country turned out to be for nothing? And what would happen to them if there were caught?  
  
Doggett was turning to head to the bathroom, when the television was suddenly shut off. He turned and saw Scully with the remote control in hand.  
  
"John," she began, "if anything should happen to separate us...if one or both of us is caught, I just want you to know how much I...appreciate you, and everything you've done since day one. You've been more than a partner. More than a friend. I couldn't have survived without you. When they...when they took my son, so soon after his birth, I thought I could never recover. You showed me it was possible. You showed me perseverance, even in the face of extreme hopelessness and doubt. I will always honor that."  
  
Doggett searched for adequate words to return the sentiment. When he could find none, he merely cleared his throat and said, "Back at you, Scully."  
  
Scully smiled a crooked smile, lowered her eyes and shook her head.   
  
"Well put, Agent Doggett."  
  
"Hey, what else is there to say? Any good thing I've learned or done through this nightmare, I learned from you. You and Mulder."  
  
"Muldah," she said just under her breath, always amused by this Bronx-by-way-of-Georgia hybrid accent.  
  
"If something should happen," he continued, "and there's a chance you can get away, Dana, take it. Don't worry about me. I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."  
  
"Back at you," Scully said.  
  
"No, it doesn't work that way. You get to Mulder any way you can, come hell or high water, you understand? We can't win this thing without you. My life or a million lives, that's what it boils down to."  
  
"Are you through, Sir Lancelot?"  
  
"Yeah," he said, "I'm through."  
  
With that, he turned and headed for the bathroom.  
  
* * *  
  
When he stepped out of the bathroom, clean, hair wet and combed back off his forehead, wearing his last fresh pair of jeans and clean white tee shirt, he had expected to find Scully already curled up in bed, half asleep. He would then take a seat near the window to keep watch. This had been their routine. She broke it tonight.   
  
She was sitting in the chair, by the window. In the middle of the table sat the peanut butter pie, crumpled napkins flattened out and folded, and two forks.  
  
"Dinner," she said.  
  
He tossed his dirty clothes in a corner and joined Scully, sitting across from her. They both picked up their forks and dug in.  
  
"Hey," he said with a mouthful, "this is good."  
  
"Heaven in a tin plate."  
  
"You know, I was thinking about what you asked me earlier. About your son."  
  
"What about him?"  
  
Doggett took a moment to choose his words carefully. He wanted to strengthen her, encourage her, but not give her a phony sense of hope.   
  
"He's supposed to be a real special kid, right? Seems to me they may not kill him. They'd want to see what he can do."  
  
"You mean, determine if he's some kind of threat to them?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
He thought it sounded pretty good. He was nearly ready to pat himself on the back, when Scully put her fork down and began to pale.  
  
"What?" he asked.  
  
"I'm just thinking...how they would do that...determine if he's a threat...."  
  
He realized instantly the can of worms he had opened as she doubled over and began to cry. Not a gently cry, but gut wrenching sobs that chilled him and activated his own tears, made him ache for her inside. How could he have made such a grave error? Remembering what Mulder went through, what they did to him, and what her case report says may have happened to her.... What horrible, unspeakable tests and experiments and tortures lay in store for this child?  
  
Doggett eased from his seat and went to her, cradling her in his arms.  
  
"Scully, I'm sorry...sssshhhh....."  
  
And he held her until she had finished, until the tears had ceased to flow, until the sobs had turned from hiccups to deep breathing. The front of his tee shirt was soaked, from her wet hair and her tears, and his own eyes were sticky from his own dried, salty tears he was relieved she did not see.  
  
Once she was quiet, he asked, "You wanna lie down?"  
  
"No. You sleep. I can't. I'll keep watch."  
  
"Scully..."  
  
She pulled away from him and settled back in the chair.  
  
"Goodnight, John," she said. And that was the end of it.   
  
Doggett nodded. Let her have her way, he thought. She needed the time, she needed the space. God knew he needed the sleep. So he ambled over to the bed, pulled back the covers, checked the sheets, then lay down. His body felt as if he'd taken a beating. He looked over at Scully, who was staring out of a slight part in the dusty brown curtains. Once he closed his eyes, sleep instantly carried him away.   
  
* * *  
  
McDonalds  
St. Louis, MO  
3:17 pm  
  
The fries tasted like they had been cooked in month-old grease, but they were both hungry and wolfed them down. The sodas were warm - no ice - and flat, but strangely refreshing anyway. Scully and Doggett hadn't said much to each other since the their last conversation about William. Nothing other than a few curt words to move things along, or get things done. It was as if a new wall had been erected between them, and nothing could tear it down. Not yet. Doggett regretted his words, but there was no point in asking for forgiveness anymore. Though Scully told him there was nothing for which to apologize, her actions indicated differently.   
  
Somehow, he felt he had lost her.  
  
They were the only ones in the restaurant for a while, until four people entered and sat in a corner. They were apparently a family - a mother and three children, homeless and hungry. The four of them watched as Scully and Doggett ate. Scully looked at what was left of her food and considered taking it to them. Doggett saw and knew what she was thinking. He pulled out ten bucks and went back to the counter, ordered two more super sized fries and two large sodas.  
  
He signaled to Scully, and the two of them joined the family in the corner. The children dug in quickly, devouring the fries in record time. The mom nibbled a few, wanting her children to have all they could eat first. Scully shared the remainder of her fries with the woman, who took them gratefully, without pride. As they were about to leave, the woman grabbed Doggett's arm.  
  
"Here," she said. She handed him a scarred audio cassette. "For you and your woman."  
  
"I can't take that," Doggett said.  
  
"Please," said the woman. "I don't have much, but it feels good to give, don't it?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
The cassette label was scratched and dirty. Doggett held it close to his eyes to read it. He smiled.   
  
"Thank you," he said.   
  
* * *  
  
The sun was beginning to go down, the sky turning a rich crimson. Sunsets still amazed Doggett, especially now that he didn't know how many more they'd see.   
  
Scully was dozing in the passenger's seat, looking peaceful, angelic. Doggett remembered the cassette the woman had given him and pulled it from his pocket, popping it into the tape player. He kept the sound low, but Scully still stirred upon hearing it and looked up at him.  
  
"Is that the radio?" she said, hopeful.  
  
"No, a tape."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"The Black Crowes. You like them?"  
  
"I've heard of them."  
  
"I love 'em."  
  
"Proof positive."  
  
"Of what?"  
  
"Your obvious country roots..."  
  
"They're not country."  
  
"I hear a banjo..."  
  
"That's not a banjo."  
  
"It's a twang."  
  
"That's not a twang. May I please hear the song?"  
  
Scully folded her arms and listened with him. She smiled as Doggett began singing just a little under his breath.  
  
"We've been avoiding this for oh so long...  
Luxury is temporary, then it's gone."  
  
"I think I've heard this one -"  
  
"Ssh."  
  
"I know this will be awkward but not for long  
Cause soon you'll have a new boy to sing you songs.  
I will not forgive you  
Nor will I accept the blame  
I will see you on Good Friday  
On Good Friday..."  
  
"You have a nice voice, Agent Doggett."  
  
"Naw, you think so?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"How about you?"  
  
"You don't want to hear me sing. Trust me."  
  
Doggett took a deep, appreciative breath. The wall had come down.  
  
* * *  
  
They drove along, listening to the tape, watching as darkness claimed the day. Doggett was searching for a motel to stop for the night when he noticed a light up ahead, in the middle of the road. He instantly stopped the car and shut off the headlights.  
  
"What is it?" Scully asked, coming out of a light sleep.  
  
"Road block."  
  
She was awake now, adrenaline beginning to surge.  
  
"Back up, turn around," she said.  
  
"They may have seen our headlights."  
  
"Then get off the road."  
  
Doggett turned to look out of the back windshield, to turn about, when he noticed huge white headlights heading their way, coming up fast behind them.  
  
He turned the face the front windshield, and saw more headlights coming in their direction.  
  
"They made us!" he cried.   
  
"GET OFF THE ROAD!"  
  
"The terrain's unnavigable! We turn our headlights on and they nab us. No headlights and we could slam into a tree!"  
  
"What then?"  
  
"Plow right through them."  
  
The headlights were getting closer behind them and before them.  
  
"Go!" Scully yelled.  
  
Doggett took out his weapon, removed the safety. Scully did the same. He slammed his foot on the accelerator. The tires spun and jetted them forward.  
  
"You think these aliens know anything about playing chicken?" Doggett shouted.   
  
"Apparently not," Scully said, "they're still coming!"  
  
He waited for the vehicle to get closer, closer, and then he flashed his high beams.  
  
They heard the tires of the oncoming vehicle scream on the asphalt and it swerved to miss them. Doggett swerved the other way, off the road, onto the surrounding terrain. He slammed the breaks, and he and Scully both looked out of the back windshield in time to watch as both vehicles slammed into each other and exploded in a fiery ball.  
  
"Keep moving!" Scully cried.   
  
Doggett put the car in gear and fought the wheel. The car rocked and shook hard as they drove, dipping into holes, crunching over branches and thick roots and stones. They found their way to a small dirt road and pulled onto it, sending a cloud of dust like black locusts behind them.  
  
Scully was breathing hard. Doggett's lips were so tight he felt them beginning to numb. Neither could speak as he drove, straining to see in the dark.  
  
The car began slowing down.  
  
"What are you doing?" Scully demanded.  
  
"CRAP! We're outta gas!"  
  
The car kept rolling for another hundred feet, and then came to a stop.  
  
"Looks like we're on foot, Agent Scully."  
  
* * *  
  
10:56 PM  
  
They came across a small motor lodge, no more than a dozen rooms, looking like something out of an old Hitchcock movie. There was only one vehicle in the parking lot - a dented, dust covered blue Ford truck that had to be at least thirty-five years old. The neon vacancy sign was not lit, and the only light came from the small office. Doggett led Scully into a safe corner in the shadows.  
  
"Cover me," he said, pulling his gun and making his way to the office, looking over his shoulder.  
  
The door was unlocked. He opened it, gun ready, letting the door swing open wide and slow. He peeked in, saw no movement, heard nothing. He took a step in, giving the place a wide sweep with his gun and eyes. He saw a counter, a registry book, and a hand. Someone was behind the counter. Must be asleep, he thought.  
  
Doggett took another step. Closer. And then he saw it. The Manager, sitting in a chair at the desk, had blown a hole blown through his mouth and the back of his head. Despite the blood, Doggett could still see the surprised look frozen forever on his face. The wall behind him was a kaleidoscopic mess of fluid and tissue.  
  
Doggett moved closer to look around, to make sure there was no one else in the office. The gun the Manager had used was still in his lap where it had fallen. Doggett took it, removed clip and tossed the gun away. Doggett's eyes saw the registry book. On every line, for several pages, the Manager had scribbled, "They're here. They're here. They're here."  
  
Doggett reached behind the dead Manager and grabbed a skeleton key from the wall. He then reached for the corpse, frowning as he got closer. He dug his hands into the Manager's back pocket and found what he was looking for. The keys to the blue Ford truck outside.  
  
On leaving the office, he locked the door, jiggled the doorknob to be sure, then went to retrieve Scully. She wasn't there. He felt his heart drop like an elevator car doing a free fall.   
  
He raised his gun, looking for her, ready to kill anyone or anything that threatened to take her away from him.  
  
"Agent Scully," he called out in a harsh whisper.  
  
"Over here," came her reply. Doggett looked over by the old truck and took a deep breath of relief.  
  
"You think the owner would let us buy this off of him?" she asked.  
  
Doggett held up the keys. "It's ours. C'mon, let's get a room."  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"Your choice."  
  
* * *  
  
She slept while he kept watch. Just a two hour nap, he told her, then back on the road. There was only a quarter tank of gas, and there was no telling how far that old gas guzzler would go before the gage hit "E". Doggett carefully cleaned his gun, occasionally looking over as Scully mumbled in her sleep. She was having a rough night. Deservedly so; it had been a rough day. He wished he could get word to Mulder somehow, about the road blocks and about taking a less direct route that could add days to their schedule. But there was no way to do that. Cell phones were useless now, banned. Regular phone service was unpredictable. Communication was next to impossible. They were on their own. He'd just have to do everything he could to get her to the rendezvous as planned, no matter how late. He hoped that Mulder would understand and that he would not worry too much.   
  
Or blame him.  
  
He reassembled his gun and looked over at the digital clock. Scully had been sleeping now for two hours and ten minutes. He decided to let her sleep just a little while longer. She needed it. And he could rest just a bit. He could just sit and take a quick cat nap. Five minutes just to buzz out. That was all he needed. He was quite good at doing that back when he was a New York cop, especially when on stake outs. Five minutes to rest his eyes, rest his brain, and he would have boundless energy again.   
  
He let his eyes close.   
  
Just for a minute.  
  
* * *  
  
"Doggett, wake up!"  
  
"Wha..."  
  
"It's seven a.m. Let's go."  
  
Realization slapped Doggett hard in the face. He leaped from the chair and looked at his watch, then out of the window. Sunlight streamed in where he lifted the heavy dark curtain.  
  
"Crap," he said, as Scully handed him his backpack and gun. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. I never meant to, Scully."  
  
"It's okay. Let's just get going."  
  
He felt guilty - they'd lost hours - but he couldn't let that interfere with getting them out of there and back on the road. He had her remain in the room while he checked around outside first. He pulled his gun and kept it ready as he wandered about. The blue truck was still there. He made his way over to the manager's office and checked the door. He turned the knob.   
  
It opened. He was sure he had locked it the night before.  
  
BLAM!  
  
Gunfire from inside, blasted away a part of the door. Something hard hit Doggett in the side, like a foot kicking him forcefully, but he was too busy getting out of the way to worry about it. He rolled on the ground and came up beside the truck, taking refuge behind the truck bed. He was breathing fast and hard. He looked back to the room, for Scully. She was at the door, back against it, gun ready. She had his back. He licked his drying lips, feeling his breath coming in jagged gasps. Something was wrong, he didn't know what, but he sat his worry aside when he heard whoever it was with the gun come out onto the porch.  
  
"You killed my DADDY!" a voice cried. It was a man, about thirty, with a gun. Apparently, Daddy was the Manager, and Daddy kept more than one gun around the office.  
  
"No!" Doggett cried harshly. "He killed himself. He was dead when I got here last night!"  
  
"You killed him! Alien scum! I'll kill you all!"  
  
"No, I'm human. I'm coming out, okay? Don't shoot."  
  
BLAM! Pieces of the truck bed were blown away. Doggett felt metal fragments hit him in the face, burning his cheek.  
  
And then he heard Scully fire her weapon.  
  
Doggett came from around the truck and saw the man's body twist in a most unnatural way as Scully's bullet drove into his head. He hit the ground hard and lay motionless, dead.  
  
Doggett ran to him, as did Scully. Scully knelt down and felt for a pulse. Neither believed she would find one.   
  
"Who was he?" Scully asked. "Why did he try to kill you?"  
  
"I should have told you last night," Doggett said, his breath ragged, voice starting to weaken.   
  
Scully looked up at him with frightened eyes.  
  
"I wanted to spare you," he continued. All the color seemed to be draining out of his face, and he was beginning to sweat.  
  
"His father blew his own brains out before we got here last night. His corpse is in there," he said, motioning to just inside the office.   
  
"My guess is, he went in found his father, and thought we did it. We should get out of here before we attract any more attention or pissed off family members."  
  
Scully headed for the passenger's side of the truck.  
  
Doggett remembered the slam he felt against this side. He reached his gun-free hand inside his leather jacket, touched his side and winced, gasped. He pulled his hand out. It was covered with warm blood.  
  
"Crap," he whispered. He hid his bloody hand in his pocket, then called out to Scully, "Why don't you drive?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said, you drive." He tossed her the keys, wincing. Scully caught them deftly, then raced around to the driver's side to climb in.  
  
"Let's go!" Scully demanded, as she slammed the door.  
  
"I gotta hit the john first," he said, and headed back for the motel room.   
  
"Doggett?"  
  
"One minute!"  
  
* * *  
  
He closed and locked the bathroom door, turned on the water full blast and stuck his bloodied hand under the faucet. He watched how quickly the old white sink became stained pink.  
  
The adrenaline rush from the shootout was starting to wear off. He was beginning to get a hint of what the pain was going to be like when it hit him full-force. It wasn't going to be easy, hiding this from Dana Scully, MD. But he knew he had to.  
  
They were already behind schedule. There was no more time to lose. He slowly removed his jacket and let it fall to the floor. His tee shirt was sucking up redness at an alarming rate. He peeled the blood-soaked fabric from his skin and pulled it up to see the wound in the mirror.  
  
There it was. Nice sized hole, too, oozing blood non-stop.  
  
"Crap," he said.   
  
He turned slightly to the side to see if there was an exit wound. There it was. He wondered what organs might have been damaged or obliterated by the bullet. No time to consider that now.   
  
He grabbed two white hand towels and unbuckled his belt, pulling it from the loops. He placed a folded towel against the exit wound, and awkwardly put the belt around him, pulling it as tight has he could, gritting his teeth, sweat breaking out anew on his forehead. He took a moment to catch his breath and steel himself for part two.  
  
He folded the other towel, and shoved it against the entry wound, inside the tightened belt, hoping this would be at least enough pressure to slow the bleeding. It had to be. He pulled his tee shirt back down, and realized he had to hide the dead-give-away stain. He reached for his leather jacket. It was as if a jackhammer was beating away at his side. He slipped into the coat and buttoned all the buttons. Good. No sign of his blood.  
  
He heard a car horn honking outside. Either Scully was growing impatient, or she was trying to warn him that trouble was waiting. He leaned against the wall, steadied himself, checked his gun, then reached for the doorknob.  
  
* * *  
  
Scully had pulled the truck up to just outside the motel room door. Dogged appreciated that more than Scully would ever know. Every step activated that jackhammer pain.   
  
This was going to be a long ride.  
  
"Let's go, Doggett!" she cried, reaching across the seat to open the door for him. It took all he had to climb up and settle into the seat. He slammed the door shut hard, which he instantly regretted.   
  
"You okay?" Scully asked.  
  
"Yeah," he said. "Let's go, drive."  
  
Scully pulled off onto the road.  
  
* * *  
  
They'd been driving for more than an hour. So far, Doggett felt he was hanging tough. But every bump and every pothole, every hairpin turn threatened to give away Doggett's true condition. He was sweating profusely now - diaphoretic, they called it - and he kept wiping his forehead, hoping Scully hadn't noticed yet. His hair was so wet with sweat that it looked darker and spikier than normal.  
  
"Why don't you take your jacket off, Doggett? You look a little fried."  
  
"I'm fine," he said. "Just keep driving."  
  
Now that some of Scully's own adrenaline had worn off, he was afraid she'd be a little more observant of his condition. His fear was coming to light. Scully was watching the road less, and him more.   
  
"Something's wrong," she said. "What is it?"  
  
"Nothing," spat Doggett. "I think I'm coming down with something."  
  
She hit another bump in the road and saw Doggett wince.  
  
"Please do me the courtesy of not trying to BS me, Agent Doggett. You're obviously in pain."  
  
Scully hit the brake and pulled off to the side of the road.  
  
"What are you doing?" Doggett yelled. "Don't stop the truck!"  
  
Doggett reached for the steering wheel, but it took more strength than he had. He could feel the blood draining from his face, and felt the world move in that odd way it would just before one lost consciousness.  
  
"I'm going to examine you, and I'm not taking no for an answer. Or I promise you, I'm not moving this truck."  
  
"Scully, please, get back on the road."  
  
She said nothing, but stared.   
  
"Okay," he relented, knowing the charade would be over soon, as his condition continued to deteriorate, "but you gotta promise me, no matter what, you get this truck back on the road and we keep driving. You got that, Agent Scully?"  
  
He waited for her to agree. She nodded once.  
  
Doggett reached for the buttons on his leather jacket. His fingers felt as if they were made of mush, barely able to respond to his brain's commands. Scully reached out, moving his hands out of the way and unbutton the jacket herself. Doggett winced and cried out as she pulled the jacket away.  
  
"I'm shot," he said.  
  
"Oh, my God."  
  
She lifted his bloodied tee shirt to find the two red-soaked towels secured by his belt.  
  
"When were you going to tell me about this?" she asked angrily. She reached for the entry wound towel. Doggett winced before her fingers even touch him. She gently pulled it away just enough to get a look.  
  
"You've got a dime sized hole, still losing blood."  
  
Doggett shivered and closed his eyes.  
  
"Doggett, wake up. John! Can you hear me? Wake up! Don't go out on me. You're going into shock."  
  
"I figured," John said weakly.  
  
"Is there an exit wound?"  
  
"Yeah," he answered.  
  
"I need to see it."  
  
"Can't you just take my word for it?"  
  
She reached for his shoulders to pull him toward her.   
  
"This is going to hurt," she warned. "Can you help me?"  
  
"Go for it."  
  
Doggett fought not to cry out as Scully pulled him forward and turned him to the side.  
  
"How do I look?" he asked between gasps.  
  
"Looks like the bullet went right through,"  
  
"That's good, right?"  
  
She said nothing as she gently eased Doggett back against the seat.  
  
"So we keep going, right?"  
  
"Yes, we keep going," she said as she restarted the truck.  
  
Doggett settled back, wanting to sleep, until he felt Scully make a 180 degree turn.  
  
"What are you doing? Why are we turning around?"   
  
"I saw a sign a few miles back," she said. "An exit for a hospital."  
  
"No, no hospitals, Scully! You know as well as I do, any hospital you find is gonna be lousy with alien scumbags and the human filth that report to them. They'll catch you and you can kiss goodbye any chances we got of kicking their alien butts back to where they came from!"  
  
"You are going to bleed to death, Agent Doggett."  
  
"Yeah, probably."  
  
"I don't accept that as easily as you do."  
  
"That's 'cause I got my head on straight. First priority is to the project, and getting you safely to Mulder."  
  
"What would you have me do, drop you off at some motel, or just dump you off on the side of the road?"  
  
"Better 'n you getting caught."  
  
"I'm not going anywhere without you. Besides, I'm driving, I'm in control now."  
  
"Scully..."  
  
"I'm not leaving you, Doggett. I'm not letting you die."  
  
"Don't be a fool. Too many people need you."  
  
"Right now, you need me."  
  
"I'm just a messenger boy."  
  
"Shut up, Doggett. Save your strength."  
  
She didn't have to tell him to be quiet. He had already passed out.  
  
* * *  
  
John nodded in and out of consciousness most of the way. Scully occasionally reached over to feel his forehead. The heat radiating from his skin worried her deeply.  
  
"Hang in there, Doggett," she whispered.  
  
They drove past a sign announcing gas, food and lodging at the next exit. To her relief, there was the big blue sign with a big white H she had seen earlier, indicating a hospital also at the next exit.  
  
She found the hospital quickly, but it was a small and rather run down facility. And just as Doggett had said, the place was crawling with aliens. She couldn't even be sure that the ones who were not clones were truly human. Just like with Billy Miles, even they would have red blood. There would be no way to tell if they were human or alien until they'd already taken your head off.  
  
Trying to carry Doggett in may cause too much attention. What she wanted was to simply slip in, get the supplies she needed and get out of there. She could take care of him herself.  
  
"Doggett, I want you to lie down in the seat and stay."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Lie down." She helped him down. She could feel him trembling in her arms.  
  
"I'll be back as fast as I can."  
  
"Careful," he said, barely above a whisper.  
  
He was fading fast. She had to get moving.  
  
She stepped through the automatic doors and found the emergency room. There were only a couple of people milling around, and none of them looked particularly busted up or in need of treatment.  
  
Scully went to the admissions desk and looked at the nurse. She seemed human enough.   
  
"I need to see a doctor."  
  
"Fill this out," the nurse said, handing her a pen and clipboard.  
  
"And we'll need to see your papers."  
  
"Papers? Yes. My papers. They're in the car. I'll just go...go..."  
  
Scully fell to the floor. Two nurses quickly attended her, lifting her onto a gurney and wheeling her into a treatment room.   
  
"Did I pass out?" Scully asked, playing it to the hilt.   
  
"Has this happened before?" a nurse asked, as they transferred her from the gurney to a treatment table.  
  
"Yes. That's why I'm here. I don't know what's wrong with me."  
  
"You just lie here. We'll have a doctor in to see you in a few minutes."  
  
The nurses left her alone. Perfect.  
  
Scully jumped down from the table and went immediately to the doctor's workstation. She found sterile bandages and shoved them down her tee shirt. She also shoved a bottle of peroxide and a tube of antibacterial cream inside her clothes, along with a kidney dish, two unopened sterile suture sets and two handfuls of aspirin samples. She looked up and saw the locked cabinet. There would be stronger pain killers and antibiotics in there. She went to the cabinet and looked for something to break the glass.  
  
"What do you think you're doing!"  
  
Scully turned with a start. It was the doctor. Youngish, African American, female, round glasses, overworked and not in the mood to play. She took a bet that this woman was human. She looked far too weary to be one of the conquerors, much less on their side.  
  
"Security!"  
  
"No, wait!" Scully pleaded. "I'm a doctor. I need supplies. My friend is hurt. We're undocumented. Please."  
  
The Doctor looked out the door through the corners of her eyes. She picked up the phone and dialed.   
  
"Security," she began. Scully felt her heart sink. This was it.  
  
"Security, I want to report a theft. About 10 minutes ago. White male, average height, tough looking, wearing industrial overalls. Very red hair."  
  
The doctor hung up the phone and went to the locked cabinet. She opened it and handed Scully several sterile syringes and vials of morphine and antibiotics. She left the cabinet open. She then removed her own lab coat and held it out to Scully.   
  
"Put this on. If they notice the missing drugs and I don't make a report, I'm dead. Take the back exit."  
  
"Thank you," she said as she slipped into the lab coat.  
  
"Just get out and don't come back."  
  
Scully headed for the door.  
  
  
* * *  
  
She hid behind a dumpster overflowing with garbage, holding her breath to keep from smelling the stench that threatened to make her gag, and waited until the way was clear. There were not that many people about, but she had no way of knowing who was human, and who wasn't. Once the coast was clear, Scully headed back to the parking lot.   
  
She caught sight of the blue pick-up but saw no sign of Doggett. She felt a nervous wave ripple through her. She had told him to lie down in the seat. But what if she got back and he wasn't there? Or what if he wasn't breathing...  
  
She forced herself not to panic, not to be carried away by paranoia. She prayed she would find him still alive when she opened the door.  
  
She should have prayed not to be seen.  
  
"YOU!"  
  
Scully froze. The voice was familiar. And frightening. She turned around to face one of her greatest fears.  
  
The Bounty Hunter was walking toward her.  
  
"Why are you not on duty?"  
  
"Smoke break," she said, avoiding his stare, hoping he could not see the sudden fear on her face.   
  
"Then why are you heading for the parking lot?"  
  
"I left my cigarettes in the truck."  
  
"And your papers? Perhaps they are in your truck as well."  
  
"Yes," she said. She felt tension rising in her body, the need to flee. But such haste could prove dangerous. She would play along, just enough to get some distance between them, far enough so that she could get to her gun.  
  
Scully turned and continued on weakening legs toward the truck. She could hear her own heart beating in her ears, feel it throbbing near her throat. No papers, and Doggett passed out and bleeding in the front seat. How would she work her way out of this one? Even if she went for her gun, she wondered if she would be fast enough to get the drop on the Bounty Hunter. He was quickly closing the small gap between them.  
  
Help me, God, Scully thought.  
  
Gunfire. A single loud report that made every muscle in Scully's body seize up before she could react in self defense. She pulled her gun from behind her back and turned to fire on the Bounty Hunter, only to find him falling to his knees. A small black hole had been blown through his temple, leaking only a faint trickle of green blood. He fell the rest of the way to the ground with a wet thump.  
  
Scully followed the trajectory of the bullet, and found Doggett leaning weakly against the building wall. He lowered the gun, then caught himself before he felt forward.  
  
Scully raced to Doggett's side.  
  
"What took you so long?" Doggett asked, gasping for breath. "I thought something happened to you."  
  
"What were you doing out of the truck?"  
  
"I was looking for you. Good thing I did."  
  
"Let's get out of here," she said, yanking Doggett up by his jacket, then pulling his arm around her shoulder.  
  
"Come on!" she cried, fighting against his weight to get him to his feet.   
  
Doggett tried to help her, tried to pull himself up, but his body refused to obey. He knew Scully could not support his dead weight. He fell forward, with a painful groan.  
  
"Get up!" Scully demanded. "Move it, Doggett!"  
  
"Forget about me, just go," he said, pushing himself to his knees. Scully grabbed him around the waist and pulled almost violently. He cried out.   
  
Scully could hear others quickly approaching. She leaned Doggett against the truck, opened the door, and practically shoved him inside. She ran to the driver's side, climbed in and quickly turned the ignition.   
  
The engine refused to turn over. It whined, shuttered, died.  
  
Two more Bounty Hunters were heading their way on foot.  
  
She'd never seen anyone run that fast before.  
  
She tried the ignition again. Nothing.  
  
"COME ON!" she cried.  
  
Doggett came around, pulled himself up in the seat, balled up his fist and slammed it down hard on the dashboard.  
  
"Try it now," he said.  
  
Scully would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so dire. Since the Bounty Hunters were almost upon them, she turned the key in the ignition.  
  
The engine sparked to life.  
  
Doggett smiled and hunkered down in the seat.  
  
She gunned the engine and slammed the accelerator to the floor, making the tires squeal as if in pain. She drove directly at the two alien clones. They never strayed from their course.   
  
"Hold on!" Scully cried.   
  
She smashed into the two aliens and sent them flying over the hood.   
  
One she saw rolling on the pavement in her rear view mirror. Once he stopped rolling, he lay dead still, the sight of him shrinking in the distance.  
  
The other Bounty Hunter seemed to disappear.  
  
Until he sat up in the truck bed.  
  
He smashed his thick fist through the back glass window and grabbed a handful of Scully's red hair. She yelled as he pulled, as if he could yank her through the window.  
  
Doggett sprang into action as if suddenly all strength had been returned to him. He smashed the Bounty Hunter's hand with his gun. When that didn't work, he tried to pry the alien's fingers from his grip on his partner's hair. When that didn't work, he aimed his gun out of the window and fired twice.  
  
That worked.  
  
The Bounty Hunter's body flew out of the truck bed and disappeared in a gully on the side of the road.  
  
Scully's face was still registering shock and pain. The side of her face had a smear of blood from the Bounty Hunter's rough handling.   
  
She was pushing the old truck past a speed it hadn't kicked out in years. The steering wheel was quaking in her white-knuckled grip.  
  
"Easy, Scully," Doggett said, reaching over to touch her hand on the wheel. "We got the bad guys."  
  
She gave him a quick look. Her lips had gone pale. She was breathing in quick, short gasps. A single tear had welled up in her left eye and hung there for a moment, before cascading down her blanched cheek.  
  
Doggett looked to the rear-view mirror, watching it without blinking.  
  
"No one's following us," he said with great relief. "We're okay."  
  
As she slowed down to a more reasonable speed, the color began returning to her lips and cheeks.  
  
"That was close."  
  
"Too close," Doggett agreed. "You okay?"  
  
"Yeah," she said quickly. "You?"  
  
"I've been better."  
  
He sat back, holding his side.  
  
"John?"  
  
"I'm okay. You just keep the pedal to the metal, Speed Racer."  
  
  
* * *  
  
She found an abandoned farm house far from the main road. The place looked worse from the outside - paint peeling, broken steps and boards, smashed, soaped windows. But a quick inspection inside showed her more than she could have asked for.  
  
She thanked God as she was able to easily pull away the boards nailed to the door. The door itself had no knob, no lock, no deadbolt, and pushed open with a haunted house squeal.  
  
It was an hour or so before sundown, so there was still just enough light streaming through the broken windows to see the condition of the place.   
  
A few pieces of old furniture were covered with dusty white sheets. Cobwebs dominated the spooky decor, but were easily knocked away. The sofa was a fold-away bed; the mattress was mildewed but could be flipped over and covered. The kitchen sink had running water - another plus, even though it was brown. Running the water for a good fifteen minutes at full blast would clear it, Scully thought.   
  
There was no electricity, and no gas for the stove, but there was a fireplace, which meant she could boil water and keep Doggett warm.  
  
She ran back outside, back to the truck, anxious to share with Doggett what she had found.  
  
He was paler than the last time she checked him. His fever was high, his face was drenched with sweat. He was semi-conscious and mumbling. His hands were balled into gnarled fists that could not relax or open.  
  
"John?"  
  
He didn't react or respond.   
  
"AGENT DOGGETT!"  
  
"Hmm..."  
  
"Let's get you inside."  
  
* * *  
  
How she managed to drag him inside was a mystery to Scully. All she knew was somehow she had gotten him into the house and onto the fold-away. She'd shaken the dust from the protective sheets, turned them over and covered mattress. That would have to do for now.  
  
She barricaded the door with whatever furniture she could drag across the room, built a small fire to boil water, then began laying out all of the medical supplies she had taken earlier on a coffee table and pulled it near the fold-away bed.   
  
Doggett stirred and moaned as she washed her hands.  
  
"Scully!"  
  
"I'm here," she said, coming to his side. "How do you feel?"  
  
"Like about thirty miles of bad road," he said with a grimace.   
  
Doggett's mouth twisted in a hurt half-smile; Scully smiled back.  
  
"I'm going to clean and bandage your wound. I hate to tell you this, but it's gonna hurt."  
  
"More?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
She pulled her flashlight from her backpack and focused the beam on John's mid-section. She knelt down and began removing his jacket, then ripped open his blood-encrusted tee shirt.  
  
"Hey, easy on the threads."  
  
"Sorry."   
  
He began to nod off again.  
  
"Doggett, wake up. John! Can you hear me? Wake up."  
  
Doggett stirred, moaned. His eyes opened, but they seemed distant and clouded. "Lemme sleep."  
  
"No, you have to stay awake. Just for a little while. I know it's hard. Just keep talking to me."  
  
She began the painful process of probing and cleaning the wound. Doggett fought the urge to cry out, sucking air through clenched, grinding teeth and sometimes trying to sit up and get away from her.   
  
She asked him questions, about his days with the NYPD, about his Marine training, about his family. She wasn't really listening, couldn't afford to let her concentration stray far from her work.   
  
"I have to lift you, to clean the exit wound, John. Think we can do it?"  
  
"You do what you have to do, Scully. Don't mind me."  
  
She placed her arm under him, and pulled him forward.  
  
"Aw, GOD!"  
  
"I'm sorry, hold on, John."  
  
She worked as fast as she could, quickly placing a bandage over the exit wound.  
  
Doggett shuddered in her arms, then his head fell backwards as he began  
losing consciousness again.  
  
"No, John, you can't sleep right now."  
  
"C'mon."  
  
"No. Stay with me."  
  
"Hurry up. This hurts like hell, Scully."  
  
"I know."  
  
She gently lowered him back down, and finished bandaging him.  
  
"Keep talking to me, John."  
  
"Yeah...you wanna hear something crazy, Agent Scully?"  
  
"Sure, Agent Doggett."  
  
"I had this thought. If I didn't wind up on the X-Files, none of this stuff woulda happened. There wouldn't be any space aliens, no take- over, nothing. I know it's not the case, but, I can't help but wonder. I mean, what if you never got on the X-Files."  
  
"I often wondered that myself."  
  
"You ever regret it?"  
  
"There was a time."  
  
"You know what I learned...OW!"  
  
"Sorry. What have you learned, Doggett?"  
  
"That ignorance ain't bliss, it's just ignorance."  
  
"Better to know what's coming at you so you can duck?"  
  
"Or at least know what hit ya."  
  
"There," she said, finishing the bandaging job. "Almost good as new."  
  
"Am I gonna make it?"  
  
"You're going to be fine."  
  
"You can tell me."  
  
Scully reached for a sterile syringe kit and prepared a shot.   
  
"I'm giving you an antibiotic to fight infection, which will radically improve your chances."  
  
"I like the way you put things," he said, watching as she cleared the air bubbles from the hypo. "Then what?"  
  
"Then, you rest, I watch you, we see how you're doing in the morning."  
  
She swabbed his arm, masterfully administered the shot - he felt no more than a pinch, then quickly swabbed him again.  
  
"Some knight I turned out to be," he said, settling back against the pillow.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said, some knight I turned out to be. More than a little tarnished."  
  
"I'd be dead if it wasn't for you."  
  
That seemed to quiet him. He held his side and breathed.   
  
Scully rose, her legs stiff and tired and began to clean up the mess of bloody rags and instrument wrappings. Silence filled the room, until Doggett's gravelly, weakening voice broke it.  
  
"Scully, the map to the rendezvous is in my back pack. You might want to vary the route a bit, just to be safe. Stay off main roads as much as possible."  
  
"I'm not leaving you, Doggett."  
  
"Don't be a fool - "  
  
"Look, we've already been through this."  
  
"Take my advice and go."  
  
Scully picked up the keys to the truck and headed for the door.  
  
"Now you're making sense," Doggett declared.  
  
"I'm just going to move the truck. Get some sleep, Doggett."  
  
* * *  
  
Scully passed out on a covered chair near the fold-away. She woke after about an hour, disturbed by a noise that had found its way into her dream.   
  
A car was pulling up outside the house.  
  
Scully leaped from the chair, grabbing her gun and crouching by the fold-away.  
  
"Doggett," she whispered.  
  
"What!"  
  
"Ssshhh.... There's someone outside."  
  
He tried to rise, but pain and weakness kept him on his back. Scully checked his gun and put it in his hand, then checked her own, and crept toward the barricaded door.  
  
She waited, listening, her back against the wall, gun held high. The car had stopped. She heard the door open and close. She crouched and moved to one of the broken windows to peer out.   
  
A tall, broad man was moving around the grounds, cautiously. He was armed. He was big enough to be one of the Bounty Hunters, but it was too dark to tell. She ducked as the silhouetted figure moved toward the porch.  
  
Her heart was racing, her knees threatening to buckle. Seconds later, the door was pushed, slamming against the barricade. Scully aimed at the door, ready to fire. Her hands were shaking.   
  
The door slammed against the barricade again, then a strong body pushed against it, effectively if slowly moving the piled furniture away, table legs screeching against the floor.  
  
Scully took cover and waited, waited for the intruder to show enough of himself so that she could shoot him. She waited until she could get a good shot at center mass.  
  
The intruder was squeezing his way inside. He was big. But he wasn't wearing a uniform, not that she could tell in the dull moon glow coming through the window. Blue jeans, hiking boots. Dark sweater. Bald head. Glasses.  
  
"Freeze!" Scully cried.  
  
The intruder did as told.  
  
"I have a gun," Scully warned, nearly snarling, "and I will use it."  
  
"Scully?" the intruder said.  
  
"Skinner?!"  
  
Scully scrambled for her flashlight and centered the beam on the intruder's face.  
  
Skinner squinted, turning his face away from the sudden light.  
  
Scully wanted to run to him. Something told her not to. Not yet.  
  
"How do I know you're you? Tell me something only Skinner and I would know."  
  
"Your baby's name is William."  
  
"Not good enough."  
  
Skinner paused, thinking.   
  
"The time Mulder was lost at sea..." he began.  
  
"What about it?"  
  
His voice was a little lower, almost embarrassed. "When I gave you the coordinates, in the elevator, you kissed me."  
  
Scully relaxed, lowered the gun.  
  
Skinner raised his, aiming it at her head. "How about you do the same for me?"  
  
Scully was at a loss at first, then, after a moment's hesitation, stated, "You once said, you hated aiming guns at pregnant women."  
  
Skinner lowered his gun now. He pushed past the rest of the barricade and went directly to Scully with arms wide open. She fell into his arms and breathed a deep sign of relief.  
  
"How did you find us?" she asked.  
  
"Divine intervention, blind luck, I don't know. I've been waiting at the rendezvous for two days. You were late. When you didn't show, I decided to followed the route, hoping to find you along the way. I was on the main road passing when I saw smoke. When I got up here I didn't see lights. Something told me to check it out, but I never imagine I'd find you here."  
  
"How's Mulder?"  
  
"Impatient. We've gotta get going. Where's Doggett?"  
  
"Over here."  
  
Scully pulled away and let Skinner follow the raspy voice.  
  
Skinner moved toward the fold-away and knelt down. "What happened?"  
  
"Got in the way of a bullet," Doggett said. "It's good to see you, Skinner."  
  
To Scully, Skinner asked, "How is he?"  
  
"He can't move for at least another day."  
  
"We have to get moving. Time's running out."  
  
"I'm not leaving him," Scully said firmly.  
  
"I'm not suggesting that you do."  
  
"Good," Scully said, finally putting her gun down and settling back in her chair. "You mind pulling watch while my partner and I get a little sleep?"  
  
"Knock yourself out," Skinner said.   
  
* * *  
  
As it turned out, Scully didn't sleep much after all. She spent time talking with Skinner, being brought up to speed on the project, and realizing just how much work had to be done. And she wanted to know everything about Mulder.   
  
Doggett had a rough night. So Scully spent the rest of the night dabbing her partner's forehead with a damp cloth, and holding his hand, talking him through frightening fever dreams, back to reality. By dawn, Doggett had settled back down to sleep, and Scully simply lay beside him and passed out.  
  
She woke mid-morning, frightened that so much time had slipped by. She was alone with Doggett, and was wondering if Skinner's arrival during the night had been real or dreamt, until Doggett spoke.  
  
"Hey, did you really kiss that big lug in the elevator?"  
  
Scully chuckled. "I wouldn't call it a kiss. More like an outpouring of emotion and gratitude."  
  
"Don't go outpouring nothing on me. I don't think I can handle it right now."  
  
"Doggett," she said, propping herself up on an elbow, and checking his forehead for fever, "I have a feeling you can handle just about anything."  
  
"You do? Mind if I borrow a little of your faith? I'm about a quart low."  
  
"Take as much of my faith as you need, John."  
  
When Skinner's car pulled up behind the house, Scully leaped from the fold-away, grabbed her gun and sprinted across the floor to the window to make sure it was him. Satisfied, she lowered her guard, took a deep breath, and went into doctor mode to examine her patient.  
  
Skinner returned with food and water for all three of them, and a pack of fresh white tee shirts for Doggett.   
  
"Those shirts cost me thirty dollars," he said, tossing them on the bed.  
  
"Couple thousand aliens invade the planet and everybody starts price gouging," Doggett said. "What's the world coming to?"  
  
* * *  
  
They let another day go by, giving Doggett a chance to regain a bit of strength, and then they hit the road. Skinner drove, while Doggett lay in the back seat. Scully spent most of her time watching Doggett.   
  
Skinner drove relentlessly, and within twenty-eight hours they had reached the compound where Mulder and members of the research team were waiting.  
  
The compound was an abandoned army base, most of its operational facilities located underground. Mulder stood by the barbed wire fence waiting as Skinner's car drove up and stopped. He saw Scully get out of the car, and smiled. But his smile faded when she did not immediately come running to him. There was something in the backseat that concerned her and Skinner both, he could tell.   
  
Mulder ran for the car. He arrived just as Skinner and Scully managed to help Doggett from the back seat. He looked pale, worn, battered, but managed to smile when he saw Mulder.  
  
"Hey. How's the war going, Fox?"  
  
"Aliens two, humans one. But it's just the first quarter."  
  
* * *  
  
36 Hours Later  
  
  
Doggett woke up in a windowless room. He rose, felt pain, but with none of the weakness and detached feverishness to which he'd almost become accustomed. He found clean clothes, a disposable razor, a basin and a towel, even his favorite soap, on a metal table by the bed.   
  
He cleaned up and shaved as best he could, dressed, and as he was fighting to tie his shoes without hurting his side too terribly, there was a knock on the door.  
  
"Come in."  
  
Mulder entered. He looked bit more worn than Doggett remembered, a little thinner, but alert and with that semi-smug grin that made Doggett think Mulder was a little more ahead of the game than he let on.  
  
"Feeling better?"  
  
"Yeah, much," Doggett said, rubbing the thick bandage under his tee shirt. "Thanks for the clothes and stuff."  
  
"Thanks for taking care of Scully."  
  
"Hey, she didn't need me."  
  
"That's not the way I heard it, Doggett. She was in pretty bad shape when I left DC. She seems to be back to her old self again. She says she owes it all to you. And something about Black Crowes, and peanut butter pie."  
  
Doggett laughed, for the first time in quite a few days.  
  
"Thank you," Mulder said again.   
  
Doggett merely shrugged. Something had been gnawing at his conscious mind, but he was always too polite to voice it. Perhaps he was only trying to avoid trouble. After all they had been through, Doggett had to know, had to ask.  
  
"Mulder, if you knew she was in such bad shape, why'd you leave her?"  
  
Mulder's eyes seemed to darken, along with his mood. Doggett figured it was a question Mulder had asked himself many times. He regretted asking now.  
  
Mulder tried to smile through his sadness. "I had a war to start."  
  
Doggett nodded. Sentimentality had no place in times like these.  
  
"So what's next, Mulder? Do we go to war and kick some alien tail or what?"  
  
"Soon. We've got some work to do here first. Scully's in the lab right now, working on the Garza vaccine, otherwise she'd be here. I know she wanted to be."  
  
Doggett detected a bit of the same territorialism he'd seen in himself before. Good.   
  
"I have something else for you."   
  
Mulder pulled from his back pocket a folded document.   
  
"New papers."  
  
Doggett stared at them, frowning now. "You sending me somewhere, Mulder?"  
  
"I'd like you to do something else, when you're up to it."  
  
"What?"  
  
"This is just between you and me."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I don't want Scully to get her hopes up."  
  
"Go on."  
  
"I may have a lead on William."  
  
Doggett stiffened a bit.   
  
"Why send me? Shouldn't you go?"  
  
"I want to. I'm needed here. Skinner will be going with you. You're the only ones I can trust with this. Don't feel obligated to go, you don't owe me anything. I owe you. Think about it."  
  
Doggett didn't need to think about it.   
  
"When do we leave?" Doggett asked.  
  
"Soon as you're better."  
  
"I'll start packing."  
  
Mulder turned, reaching for the door to leave.  
  
"Mulder...you really think we can win this thing?"  
  
"I don't know. But I rather go down fighting."  
  
Doggett nodded. So would he.  
  
  
* * *  
  
She paints her eyes as black as night now  
Pulls those shades down tight  
Yeah, she gives a smile when the pain comes  
The pain's gonna make everything all right  
  
Says she talks to angels  
They call her out by her name  
Yeah, she talks to angels  
Says they call her out by her name  
  
  
Doggett sat alone in the tiny mess hall fighting to put down a bowl of soup. His appetite had yet to return. Someone sat down next to him. He looked over to find Scully smiling at him.   
  
She looked tired - dark circles were under her eyes. Her hair was pulled back, with red wisps around her face, and she was dressed as if she'd just stepped out of the lab.  
  
"You look better," she said.  
  
"Thanks to you."  
  
"No, thank you, Agent Doggett, for getting me here, for putting up with me, for bringing me back from a very dark place."  
  
"Back at you."  
  
"Mulder thinks I don't know, but this mission you're going on, I know it's about William. No, don't deny it. I know all about it. I want so much to go with you, but I'm needed here. And I know Mulder would go if he could. But we're at a very critical stage; we're still testing the vaccine. No room for sentimentality."  
  
Doggett nodded, having come to that conclusion himself earlier. He gave her his paper napkin to wipe away the tears that were beginning to spill down her cheeks.  
  
"I pray you will find him safe. But if...just tell me the truth, no matter what you find. Despite what you and Mulder might think, I'm not fragile, I won't break. I can handle the truth."  
  
"I know you can," Doggett said.   
  
"And if it turns out to be a false lead...just take care of yourself, John. If somebody shoots, duck next time."  
  
"I'll keep that in mind," said Doggett. "You know, this may sound silly, but the fact that he asked me to do this, check out this lead, it's an honor, ya know? Makes me feel..."  
  
"Like part of the family?"  
  
"Something like that."  
  
Her face became so serious, it made his stomach clench. Her voice was just above a whisper.  
  
"If anyone can find him, it's you. Please find him."  
  
She leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek, then laid her head on his shoulder.  
  
A few seconds later, Scully rose, shoved her hands into the pockets of her lab coat and headed for the door.  
  
Doggett rose quickly.  
  
"Agent Scully!"  
  
Scully turned. Her face glistened from tears.  
  
"You like the Black Crowes?"  
  
"I've heard of them."  
  
Doggett pulled the cassette tape from his back pocket and held it out to her. Scully took a few tentative steps toward him, reached for the tape and took it.  
  
"Hold onto that for me, would ya? I'd hate to lose it."  
  
"You better come back for it."  
  
"I'll be back for it. I love that band."  
  
Scully turned and walked away.  
  
  
* * *  
  
Epilogue  
  
Scully found an old cassette player in a desk drawer in the lab, and popped in the tape. She pressed play, sat back and listened.  
  
She keeps a lock of hair in her pocket  
She wears a cross around her neck  
Yes, the hair is for the little boy  
and the cross is for someone she has not met, not yet  
  
Says she talks to angels  
Says they all know her name  
Oh yeah, she talks to angels  
Says they call her out by her name  
  
She fell asleep that night dreaming of angels keeping watch over knights in tarnished armor.  
  
  
The End.  
  
Hope you liked. Please send your comments to Lacadiva@aol.com 


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